


The Fires of Li

by CharlemagneGryffis



Series: Souls Have Names [4]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Before the hobbit, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 23:29:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2751194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlemagneGryffis/pseuds/CharlemagneGryffis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set Before the Hobbit - Dis, the mother of Fili and Kili, and how she met their father. - Part of Souls Have Names</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fires of Li

One Hundred Years Before ‘The Hobbit’

The markets of Ered Luin were a busy place, if confusing and loud. Dís was still a teen by Dwarrow standards, at age ninety-two. Upon her hundredth birthday, she would be an adult. She loved the markets though – not many knew her face, despite being almost identical to Thorin. She held a distinctly feminine appeal, with a thin slender face and a thick but ultimately willowy figure, not at all a Dwarrow shape of face unless you were of the Line of Ri.

Weaving through the people, ducking and dodging the weapons at their belts and backs, Dís wondered what life was like if she were not of the Line of Durin. Would she just be a normal Dwarrowdam? Or would she be simply dead, killed when Erebor was lost?

The thought of Erebor made her grimace and lose her footing, tripping over someone’s bare blade. Gritting her teeth as she fell, Dís went to turn, to stand and shout at the Dwarrow for leaving his steel uncovered when she felt a crippling pain. Biting out a cry, she twisted and looked at the leg, immediately seeing what was wrong.

The blade had sliced deep, cutting right into the muscle, the nerve having been whacked out of use for a moment. Looking up, she went to rage at the careless Dwarrow when she saw his face.

Now, Dís knew that by tradition, her standards should be thus: strong, noble of blood, ferocious, good with his craft, and worthy of a Princess of Erebor – any good looks that came with that package were simply a bonus.

But this Dwarrow was gorgeous, simply put. With a short, but fully-grown beard of blonde with matching golden locks that reached his elbows, dark tanned skin, a worried, rectangular face, bottomless baby-blue eyes and a thin pair of lips, he was both a beauty and a curiosity. Blonde hair was not common among Dwarrows, and not many had that shade of blue eyes either – the Scientists believed it was because of a lack of pigment in general colouring, a ‘genetic discrepancy’.

He knelt by her side. “My lady, do you need assistance?” He asked, bringing out a clean white cloth – clean! Nothing was clean in Ered Luin, everything was covered in mining-dust – and pressing it to her bleeding leg.

Snapping out of her daze, she glared. “If I did, you would be the last I asked – it was your own sword that cut me, oaf.”

He suddenly grinned. “Oh, you’ve got fire in you, noble dam.”

Dís’ eyes narrowed. “How can you tell I’m noble?” She asked, before a loud commotion further up the street distracted her. She winced at realizing that the Royal Guards were looking for her again.

The Dwarrow looked up the street before eyeing her face. He shuffled up a little – unknowing that he acted quite like how one Sméagol, aka Gollum would move in the future – before bringing a hand to her cloak. He pulled it up by the collar quickly to show her Crest of Durin, and just as quickly dropped it. Glancing at the guards mischievously, he looked back to Dís.

“Do you want to get away from your guards, your highness?”

Dís glared but nodded stiffly, nearly crying out as he suddenly lifted her up.

“What are you doing?” She said, glaring at any Dwarrow that looked at them. While many fell down in Ered Luin, it didn’t gain any interest – but a Dwarrowdam being _willingly carried?_ For the Dwarrow holding her, it would usually be suicide. Dwarrowdam’s were lethal and angry being’s.

But something distracted her as she felt her wrist start to freeze. It took her barely a second to grasp the meaning, but as they exited the markets, going down a side-alley and then through a doorway into a warm, clean room, she realized that the Dwarrow had realized too.

He set her down on the bed and let go, stopping the freezing feeling from spreading. He stepped back and went over to the roaring fireplace, which looked as if it hadn’t been attended in a while – yet it blazed a heat and sound uncannily familiar to the Royal Forges. The fires there could burn for hours without the use of bellows and suchlike after they were properly lit, but few – _few alive_ – could light them like that.

Dís’ eyes narrowed. “Who are you?” Her voice was low, gruff, and positively frightened, but he only put a pot of water over the fire to boil, tearing up a threadbare blanket and putting the piece in. She started making connections.

“Did you know I was going to be injured?”

“Not you, your highness – this is a usual precaution I take. Not all of Ered Luin have the certainty of warm beds and safety when they return home. I’m between jobs right now, but I don’t need the Spymaster telling your brother that – he’ll recruit anyone without one to the mines. It’s why I keep my blade unsheathed, so they think I’m a Blacksmith, and I forged my own blade. I keep it shining for that very purpose – rusting blades catch attention.”

Dís listened with a frown. “Why are you telling me?”

He shrugged. “Because you’re my soul mate, and you’d never betray me.” He said it so simply, it was hard to find an argument with it. The truth was plain for them both to see, except…

“I don’t know your name, and we aren’t bonded yet.”

The water boiled and he brought the pot over, using a pair of tongs to take out the sterile rags and hold them over the pot as he single-handedly took off her boot and used her own dagger – when had he taken it? – to cut her leather trousers. She grimaced. The pain was there, but her Dwarven sensibilities took over and she could ignore it – but it hurt when the pressure was taken away.

His eyes met hers. “Brace yourself.”

Dís hissed, but stayed still as he lowered the boiling rags to her leg, mopping up the blood before stuffing the cut until the bleeding stopped. He worked diligently, not touching her skin unless he had to. The heat drew away the uncomfortable feeling that came from the water mixing with her blood and flesh, but Dís found more numbness in focusing on the dwarrow.

She wondered why he was between jobs – maybe it was his appearance. It struck her as strange, but to more traditional dwarves, ‘strange’ meant trouble.

Eventually he was by the fire again, heating fresh water after tipping out the bloodied basin, washing the rags and placing in needle and wire thread meant to pierce dwarrow skin. Fidgeting, she looked around more.

The room was that – a room. The fireplace took up a third of one wall, a small kitchen space in the corner with cabinets on the walls by the door and the fire itself. She was opposite the door, on a double-bed, a proper one. She could see a tattered palate on the floor, covered in blankets and furs in front of a low table by the fire – it was probably used as a chair. In the other corner by the door, was a curtain, behind which most likely held the privy and other bathing-stuffs.

Turning her head, she saw a large chest behind the bed she was on, but other than that, the room was empty. She frowned. While she had lived in less savoury places, her homes had never been this...lonely. But as she looked closer, she saw more personal nick-knacks. A small carved horse with three of its legs missing laid on the low-table, and there was a shield-sized portrait of a family. The distance and darkness made it hard to see, but she could vaguely make out blonde hair from all but two of the maybe, two-dozen dwarves.

The sharp clap of steel falling onto stone brought Dís out of her reverie. Looking to the dwarrow, she saw him cursing under his breath as he sucked on his pinkie-finger.

“Hurt yourself?”

He made an annoyed noise before he dipped his hand into the boiling water. Dís’ eyes widened, but as he brought his hand out unscathed with a rag, which he used to bind his finger, she gaped.

He saw her staring and cursed once before looking away.

“My great, great, great grandfather was not a dwarf, and while his blood was diluted, it still reacts with our own on occasion. Because of our differing Creators, Mahal and Eru, well…I am immune to fire, to heat. I am of the Line of Li.”

Dís’ eyes widened, and she couldn’t help the girly gasp escaping her. That was why he could create the Burning Fire! He was the last descendant of its creator!

“Your name is Ali.” She said, not able to stop the slight awe slipping in at the end.

Ali nodded, looking back at her with a hint of smugness. “What is that tone I hear, your highness?”

She regained her composure quickly, glaring. “Why aren’t you working in the forges?”

He grimaced. “I can’t forge to save my life, and I don’t want charity. I can provide for myself other ways. I do rounds of the lanterns in the evenings to make sure they’re lit, and I get a small profit from that – enough to keep this place, but not enough to eat.” He forced a smile before starting to dry the rags over the flame.

It was a while before they spoke – in that time he had bandaged her leg and given her a few strips of meat.

“So what’s life like for her Royal Highness, Princess Dís?” He asked, making her scowl.

“My name is Dís. You’re my soul mate, you have the right to call me it.”

Ali smiled softly. “Dís.”

She didn’t like how her heart fluttered, and her arm burnt cold. Slowly, she took off her glove, making his eyes zoom in on it. She held it out, palm up.

“Thorin has been trying to make me see if others of noble blood are my soul mate – I want it to stop, now.”

He didn’t hesitate in taking her hands, and immediately their hands froze in position, as did their bodies. Then, black lines shot across their hands to the names hidden underneath their sleeves.

In an instance they unfroze, and Dís pushed up his sleeve as he did hers. Two names, outlined in red. There was a slight stinging in their hands before they brought them away, looking to the runes now lying on their palms innocently.

“’Enduring’.” She murmured, before looking to him, where he was grinning like a mad child. He turned it around and her eyes widened.

“’Mother’. You are indeed the special one, my Lady Dís.”

She hit him over the head on automatic. “Just Dís, moron.”

Ali laughed, before he leant over and kissed her. She froze under him, and then so did he. They separated hastily, but stayed close, eyes wide. Dís wasn’t even an adult, yet she knew what she wanted. Ali, by his looks, was easily older than her and Thorin both, but not by much. Clear though, were the emotions in his eyes.

Boldly, she kissed him, prompting him to move, one hand moving to lay on her hip, being careful of her bandaged leg before she tugged at his shirt.

“Are you sure?” He mumbled between kisses, making her growl before ripping the strings of his tunic.

It would be an eventful night.

* * *

“What do you _mean_ , you’re getting married?” Thorin demanded, making Dís raise her chin.

“You can’t stop me.”

“I know that, but _who_ are you getting married to? I need to go beat him up for not asking me first.”

“Thorin!” She cried, lurching forward as he went to draw his sword. “Leave him alone!” Her hand came up to grasp his shoulder, but it was a mistake as he glanced at her hand, eyes following it down.

“Mother…you are blessed, sister.”

She grit her teeth. “I’m getting married to Ali, of the Line of Li – and you’d better accept it.”

Thorin gritted his teeth, matching her for a second before he nodded shortly. “Fine. He is your soul mate. He would not do you any harm, or cause you pain.”

“Thorin-”

“But I want to meet him first. Bring him for dinner.”

Dís groaned.

* * *

“What will his name be?”

“Fili.”

Ali stroked the small tufts of blonde hair. “He’s perfect.”

* * *

“No, no, you can’t-”

Ali took her arms, kissing her softly. “I’ll come back to you, Dís, you and Fili, I promise.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “Please, please don’t go to the mines. You took my colours, my House as your own – you can say you are a Durin without fear, you don’t have to go.”

He kissed the top of her head. “But I must.”

* * *

“There was an explosion in the mines. I’m sorry, sister.” Thorin went to go forward, but Dís shuffled back, holding Fili to her like a lifeline as her other hand cradled her baby bump.

“Go.”

“Dís-”

“I SAID GO!”

* * *

“You come back to me.” Dís said to her two grinning sons, hating how they just brushed it all off. They kept grinning, even as she pressed Home Stone’s into their hands. “Promise me.”

They promised, and set off, but she already knew she’d lost them. They were Dwarves now, not her babies - her ever-present reminders of Ali were gone.

She fell asleep with tear-tracks on her face.


End file.
